


Nothing Harder Than the Truth

by Lomonaaeren



Series: 2013 Advent Fics [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent, Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so, in the end, it came down to this. A room in St. Mungo’s, and the chance to tell Harry what had <i>really</i> put him here, before Draco lost him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Harder Than the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for substance abuse.
> 
> This is another of my Advent fics, written for nathalieweasley, who asked for a fic based on Macklemore and Ryan Lewis’s song “Starting Over.”

Draco closed his eyes when he heard Harry’s hushed voice outside the door.  
  
“Is he all right? Can I see him?”  
  
And it didn’t matter what answer the Healers gave to his lover’s questions, because Draco could answer the first one for himself. No, he wasn’t all right. Not when he had ended up in hospital for the second time in six weeks.  
  
Draco became aware that his hands were slipping on the blankets, they were so covered with sweat. He wiped them off and sat up. If there had been more time, if they had been in another place, maybe he would have tried to slip away and leave the confrontation for later. Then he could pretend to Harry that it had solely been falling off the broom that had landed him here, and Harry would nod and smile and believe him.  
  
 _Really_ believe him. Not pretend. Because unlike some people, Harry did trust him. He had accepted Draco’s word for it, months ago, that Draco had stopped taking the Draught. And here he was again, and Draco had been able to come up with an excuse for the first time six weeks ago, too, when he had broken an arm attempting to punch through a wall.  
  
Now there was no escape. Draco licked his lips and touched his throat. It was so dry that he nearly called out for water.  
  
But he was still a coward at heart. And for that reason, he held his breath and eased down in the bed when his Healer opened the door, pretending to sleep, letting his head slump to the side. If the Healers sent Harry away, then Draco could delay telling him the truth for just a little while longer.  
  
And then what? There would be another time, Draco knew. There would always be another time. Until the point where either the Draught itself or what he was doing whenever it wore off would kill him, and then Harry would be left there, either lost and completely confused, or finding out the truth in the ashes.  
  
It was the hardest thing Draco had ever done, but he sat up and opened his eyes. “I need to see Harry,” he told the Healer. “Is he here? Did I hear his voice? Or did I dream it?” He had no problem lying to people who weren’t Harry, still. He didn’t think he ever would.  
  
The Healer smiled and shook her head. “No, he’s here. I’ll send him in.” And she shut the door and went away to tell Harry the happy news.  
  
Draco clasped his hands together, then pulled them apart. Once again, they were sweating so heavily that touching his own skin was disgusting.  
  
He was  _going_ to overcome this. He told himself that. It was  _imperative._ He could get away with lying to everyone else and putting on the mask of someone who had achieved impressive things, but he needed one person he could trust in his life, the way Harry did. The difference was that Harry simply achieved it, as easily as breathing, the way he flew.  
  
Whereas Draco needed the strength and speed the Draught gave him to fly at all, it sometimes seemed, or leap through doors and rescue people from burning buildings at the last moment, or face enemies who wanted to cast curses at him, or go up against the threat of torture. He needed the Draught of Heroes just to be an Auror, the way Harry never had.  
  
He had said he was going to stop using it. He had  _promised._  
  
Now it was time to confess what had happened to that promise.  
  
He lifted his head and fastened his gaze on Harry’s face as Harry stepped through the door.  
  
*  
  
Harry stepped into the room, and halted when he saw the way Draco was sitting up, hunched over. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and he had a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck, visible through his hair, that Harry knew.  
  
Harry shut his eyes. He had come here because he was worried about Draco, because he thought his broom accident was real. And now it appeared that Draco had once again been taking the Draught of Heroes and had done something stupid when the potion, in its later stages, convinced him that he was invincible.  
  
He thought about turning and walking away. There wouldn’t be a need for the talking that Draco so feared and Harry was coming to hate. They could drop this, and maybe—maybe Harry would leave. He had told Draco he would do that if Draco started using the potion again.  
  
Then Harry snorted lightly to himself. Right. As if a potion could make him walk away from Draco when public disapproval, his friends, Draco’s family, and kidnapping and hexing attempts in the streets hadn’t.  
  
But something had to change. This had to stop.  
  
Draco raised his head. His face was pale, and the sweat stood out around his eyes like tears. Harry walked carefully around the bed and sat down in the chair that the Healers must have been using, taking Draco’s hand. He knew Draco wouldn’t have had any other visitors before him. The friends that his affair with Harry hadn’t driven away, his use of the potion had.  
  
Harry clasped one swimming hand, and he didn’t let it go, even when Draco made a fretful attempt to draw it away.  
  
“Harry…I have something to tell you.”  
  
The whispered words were as soft as the crackling of a snake’s newly-shed skin, but they were  _spoken_ , and for Harry, that made all the difference. Draco could have decided to try and hide what he was doing, as silly as that was. But he had turned. He had  _made_ the turn. He had decided that his relationship with Harry was important enough to tell him the truth.  
  
“I know some of it,” Harry said. “The Draught?”  
  
Draco’s eyes rose, desperate. Harry smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He still had to say the hard things, he knew. And Draco was the only one who could make and keep the promise to stop using the potion.  
  
But the parts that Harry could make easier, he would.  
  
“I know you broke your promise,” he told Draco quietly. “The minute I stepped through the door and saw you, I knew.”  
  
Draco blinked, then reached up and scrubbed at his eyes with the hand that Harry wasn’t holding. “But…that was just now. How can you have accepted it already?”  
  
“I haven’t,” Harry said. This was the part that nothing could make easier, and he let his voice grow cool. He leaned over to peer sternly into Draco’s eyes. “Nothing can make me completely accept it. But if you would trust me and yourself, it would be easier.”  
  
Draco gaped at him. “Trust you? Myself? What?”  
  
Harry clasped the back of his neck now. Draco wrenched his head a little. Harry knew that sometimes the potion left Draco’s skin oversensitive, but Draco had been in hospital for two hours and the potion would have left his system enough now for that to lessen. Draco was trying to add that ease to the situation that Harry knew couldn’t be there.  
  
So he made his voice hard and he made it loving as he said, “You  _are_ a good Auror. Without the potion. And if you trusted yourself, you wouldn’t use it. If you trusted me when I said I would help you get off it and you should tell me the instant you felt the urge to get hold of some, then we wouldn’t be here right now.’  
  
*  
  
Draco bowed his head. This was the hard part of talking to Harry about the Draught of Heroes, feeling as though someone had upended a bucket of ice water all over him, and he didn’t even have the right to be angry about the way he shook.  
  
He tightened his hold on Harry’s hand, forgetting for a second about the way his palm might feel. Then he remembered, and tried to yank it back. Harry held on tight to his wrist and glared the way he would if Draco had insulted one of his friends.  
  
 _Maybe I did insult someone,_ Draco thought, his heart pounding slowly but heavily.  _Myself._  
  
“It’s easy for you, though,” Draco whispered. He wasn’t defending himself, not really, but he wanted Harry to understand the reason he tried the potion at all. “You—you see a challenge and you just  _swirl_ over to meet it. Like you’re a bird or something. You fly at it, and the challenge falls into your hand like the Snitch always did.”  
  
“I have my moments of fear,” Harry said, his voice as low as Draco’s, but more piercing. “I had one of them when I heard that you’d fallen off that fucking broom and everyone was too busy buzzing about it to tell me if you were  _all right._ Or even where you were. I love you, Draco. I’m afraid of this fucking draught and what it can do to you.”  
  
Draco blinked at him. “But…you came in here and just sat down and started talking about how I should trust you. I thought—I thought you weren’t afraid of how long that’s going to take.”  
  
Harry sighed and reached out to him, caressing his cheek. Draco turned his head into Harry’s hold and let himself be held and soothed like that, even though he knew it was weak.  
  
“I have the kinds of fears you do,” Harry whispered. “Maybe I should trust you enough to talk about them, too. Did you really think I was never afraid?”  
  
Draco just nodded. What could he say? It had been the natural conclusion. Harry faced down Dark Lords and Dark wizards and the whole wizarding world that didn’t want them together without a blink.  
  
“I sweat like you’re doing before each battle,” Harry whispered back. “I lie awake at night and think of all the things that could happen to you, what I would do if some night I don’t hear you breathing in the dark beside me. I sit there with the Floo powder in my hand for  _minutes_ each time I firecall one of my friends, now. It’s frightening for me too, Draco. I think I wouldn’t have learned to conquer my fears, except that because of Voldemort, it was that or die.”  
  
Draco leaned towards Harry, trembling. To know that Harry was human, that he might feel some of the same things Draco was using the Draught to conquer…  
  
It made Draco realize all over again what he could have lost by his stupidity, and he shuddered and did pull free of Harry’s hands this time, covering his face with his.  
  
Harry caught his arms and kissed his forehead. “I love you, you git,” he said. “I know why you used the Draught, and we’re going to talk about that, and about you lying and breaking your promise to me. But in the meantime, we’ll get through this. You’ll see. You’ll see how much I honor you, love you, need you and your  _strength_. You’ll see.”  
  
Draco pulled back, shaking and shivering, and looked into Harry’s eyes.  
  
And if there was one thing that fear could never touch, it was the love and wonder shining in Harry’s eyes.  
  
If he had inspired that…  
  
It meant that he couldn’t be as worthless as his conscience always said he was, the coward who might as well use the Draught of Heroes because he didn’t matter without it. He didn’t have to be like Harry. He could be fearful, and an Auror who didn’t always succeed in his captures, and Harry would love him anyway. He could be  _himself._  
  
Draco burst into noisy sobs, the intense emotions and the Draught weakening his control. Harry climbed into the bed and held him like that, rocking with him, speaking soft words. Draco didn’t need to hear what they were, for right now.  
  
Maybe he didn’t deserve this. Maybe they would end up like this in another six weeks, if he made a promise to Harry not to use the Draught again and then didn’t tell Harry when he began to feel the cravings that felt as if they would rip his belly in two.  
  
But by all that he had in him, Draco was going to grasp it and hold onto it with both hands. Because he was worth it. Harry had said so.  
  
And he  _did_ trust Harry.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
